


Autoprosopagnosia

by neraiutsuze



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (sort of), Dysphoria, Gen, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), body disassociation, canon-typical stranger body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neraiutsuze/pseuds/neraiutsuze
Summary: Statement of Brooke Leyland, regarding her reflection.
Kudos: 6
Collections: The Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge





	Autoprosopagnosia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Magnus Archives Flash Fanfic Challenge, prompt 'mirror'!

_Statement o f Brooke Leyland, regarding her reflection. Statement given 19th November, 2014._

This is going to sound crazy. Maybe it is. I don’t know any more, but I have to tell someone, and you’re the only ones who have even the slightest chance of believing me. About…about the  _ me _ in the mirror.

Okay, wait. Let me start at the beginning. 

The thing you have to understand about me first is, I never really cared much, about what I looked like. I mean, I didn’t want to look like I was dragged through a hedge backward or anything, but stuff like fashion and hairstyling and - and makeup, I just didn’t. For a start, I couldn’t really be bothered with it all, you know? All that faff, and for no good reason. But as well, it always felt like - such a performance. Not a lie exactly, but a cousin to a lie. You’ve seen those pictures in the tabloids about how shocking the celebs look without makeup, or in their lounge-around clothes, yeah? It never bothered me to see it, but the concept of it stuck with me. I didn’t like the idea of, well. Showing a face that wasn’t my face, a body that wasn’t my body, to the world. Not on the reg. 

I’ve got makeup, though. For special occasions. It always felt kind of nice, to break out my little pink bag and start in with the foundation, and the concealer, and the eyeshadow, and the contouring - just for one night, to look in the mirror and have a glance at a different me. Still me. Still me, but fancier. ‘Course, I didn’t use any of it all that often - I’m not much of a party girl, you know? So some of that stuff, it’s years old. Probably not good for my skin. Foundation especially. It gets all weird and cakey after a while.

I guess that’s what I was thinking when I walked into the shopping centre a few weeks ago and saw the makeup stand. I don’t usually pay attention to them. I mean, half of them are Avon pyramid schemes or something. I don’t even remember the brand name for it. But I remember the slogan. “ _ You won’t even recognise your mirror!” _ . I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I’ve heard weirder slogans. No, I remember this stall because of the woman at the counter. She was….unsettling, somehow. Her smile was just a bit too wide. Plasticky. I’ve worked in customer service plenty over the years, I know a fake customer service smile when I see one and I don’t judge, but I don’t know. It seemed genuine, I guess, just -  _ off _ . Too many teeth. Something weird about the way it pulled at the edges of her face. 

She clocked me at the same time I clocked her, I think. Or maybe she was already watching me. Doesn’t really matter. Either way, she was over like a shot, offering me a free sample of their new foundation, and - I mean, I wanted to run, but that would have been ridiculous, you know? Running like an idiot from an over-friendly makeup saleslady because I was making up a vibe from her smile? And she wasn’t for taking my stammered excuses for an answer. It was free, she said, it would be  _ so _ quick and I wouldn’t  _ believe _ the results, and eventually I just figured it was easier to let her give me whatever sachet she had and say her spiel, so I said fine.

It wasn’t a sachet. She sat me down on a chair right there at the counter, squeezed something onto her hands, and started rubbing it onto my face. I’d always thought that you weren’t supposed to put foundation on with your hands, right? That’s why they sell those beauty bulbs or whatever they’re called, the little foam things that look a bit like a Mr Whippee. I said as much, my voice cracking and a bit higher than I’d like to admit, and she just laughed. Said something about me not getting the benefit that way. I swear, her voice put me on edge as much as her smile did, but what was I supposed to do? Especially with her hands still on my face, cold and just a little too firm to be comforting.

The foundation smelled weird. I remember that. A bit like greasepaint. It didn’t feel like a lot, going on, but she kept rubbing and rubbing like there was tons of it she needed to spread over my skin. Like it was lotion she needed to soak in to my pores, or something. And after a while, it didn’t even feel like that any more. It felt like she was kneading at my cheeks themselves, my jawline and my brow, like she could just grab them and start moving them around if she wanted. The thought of that, of what this woman with the unsettling smile might be doing to my face, suddenly made me want to scream. I almost did, to be honest, making a fool of myself in the middle of Hounds Hill shopping centre be damned, but right then is when she stepped back all cheerful and clapped her hands together. “All done,” she said. “You look very lovely!” I asked if she was going to show me. I couldn’t see a mirror anywhere, which was weird considering their slogan. “Oh no,” she replied, shaking her head at me like I’d asked a charmingly stupid question. “Check it out later. It’ll be a surprise!”

She handed me a leaflet, but otherwise didn’t seem interested in getting me to buy the damn foundation. Honestly, at that point, I just wanted to get away, and she waved me off like we were best friends. As soon as I turned the corner, I couldn’t help but put my hands to my face immediately, searching for any sign of - I don’t know, I really don’t know what I was looking for, I’d just felt so strange in that chair. But I couldn’t feel anything, and the weird thing is that nothing came away on my fingers either. 

I felt a bit stupid after I’d calmed down a bit. Chalked it up to just having a weird anxiety attack about her getting up close and personal like that unexpectedly. I debated putting in a complaint, but mostly I just wanted to forget about it. And I did, really. Went back to my shopping and almost felt normal again. At least until I got home and turned on the bathroom light. Nearly had a heart attack. And that was stupid, because - it was me, in the mirror. Still me. I don’t even know what threw me. I looked a bit sharper, like when I get the contouring stuff out, but it wasn’t so wildly different that I should have jumped a mile and nearly slipped on the bathmat. I couldn’t shake the bad feeling, though. And it just got worse when I tried to wash my face and nothing came off. Like I was washing a face that had no makeup on at all.

After that, it started getting worse. Slowly, and subtly at first. I almost wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t looking for it. And it just kept building. Nose got narrower. Cheekbones got higher. My chin changed shape, I swear it did. It’s noticeably pointed, right? I used to have a pretty square jaw. What colour are my eyes? No, no, don’t answer. You’ll say brown, I know, but they’re  _ not _ . They’re not supposed to be. They used to be green. I used to have big eyebrows, Mum always said you could clean a saucepan with them, but now they’re all skinny and arched, right? Even my forehead’s smaller now. It’s- it’s not  _ me _ . It’s not my  _ face _ , it’s all wrong now. I-I tried to go to work the other day and my manager asked me what I was doing trying to get into the employee-only offices. I’ve known him for years and he didn’t have a single flicker of recognition in his eyes, thought I was pulling a stupid prank when I told him my name. 

That’s not even the worst of it, though. It’s not just seeing it in the mirrors. It’s more than that.

The me in the mirror isn’t me. It’s not my reflection. It moves a fraction of a second too slowly, like it’s trying to  _ pretend _ to be me, but it’s  _ not _ . I swear, I see it smiling sometimes out of the corner of my eye when I’m definitely not. I cracked yesterday, and touched the glass. When I moved my fingers away, there was a set of makeup fingerprints on the  _ inside _ of the mirror, I know they were on the inside because they didn’t rub away. I’ve started trying to brush my teeth in the dark, but I know she’s in the mirror watching me anyway. Waiting for - for something. For me. To  _ be _ me. I don’t know.

I need to get this foundation off. That’s it, isn’t it? It’s still  _ on _ me. Covering the real me. I tried calling the number on the flyer, but it doesn’t connect to anything. I want to be me again. Please, I just - I just want my real face back. I need  _ her _ out of the mirror. I need to be me again. You must have something, right? You must be able to help? Please, please, anything, I just - I just want my face to be  _ me _ again.

_Statement ends_.


End file.
